


INFERNO

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: BDSM (of adults), Being a Bad Example, Cousins, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aral kept telling himself he wasn't hurting anyone with his affair with Ges. But it was a long time for the one missing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	INFERNO

LATE AUTUMN 

Aral didn't hear the familiar voice of his little cousin. He was lost in the peak of sensation, kept there minute after painful and perfect minute. He and Ges had been casual this afternoon—nothing too elaborate. Ges had stripped him of his shirt and trousers, leaving only the skin-tight under-trousers worn against the Barayaran cold. Ges had stripped the same way, the better to rub his bare chest across Aral's chest and mouth. They'd found some soft scarves, and now he was tied with his hands together up against the middle of the brass frame, while more scarves bound him spread-eagled to the corners. He was blindfolded, and therefore each instant was novel and unexpected. Then Ges brought his quirt down on Aral's taut thighs, and the world went white.

Ges was nothing if not inventive, even in this mundane setting. A slash might come on Aral's thighs, causing him to shout, and then a soft kiss against his neck. A bite to his neck, or a caress of his swelling cock. Ges would take an ice cube in his mouth, then suck on his nipples until they were nearly frozen. Or a swallow of vodka, and then tongue open Aral's mouth and let the liquor dribble in. 

Just now Ges had licked all the way down his abdomen and then jerked up to deliver another crashing blow with the quirt. Those marvelous fingers were quickly back to encircling and rubbing, and they'd opened the undertrouser buttons, taking him in hand more, and more. Ges still hadn't pulled his undertrousers all the way off. It was not enough, not nearly enough, and he thrust up, croaking a begging whine.

“Off. Take them off, now, dammit, damn you!”

But he was met only with a quick twist to his nipples so hard it nearly woke him out of the trance, and he was very loud.

At this point...at this point, there was a noise of a door slamming back, and an energetic body slamming into Ges. Ges fell sideways, onto him, which actually caused more pain by tightening the scarf-holds.

“Get off him! You're hurting him!”

Aral had now recognized the voice and he opened his eyes in horror. The blindfold kept him from seeing Padma's expression, and he shook his head, trying to get free. 

“Padma! You're not supposed to come barging into my room!”

“But I heard you! You were screaming!”

The boy yelled to Ges, “Stop it now!”

Then Ges spoke up, in a silken tone, “Boy, you think he doesn't want this? Watch.”

Aral felt his cock being lifted through the opened trousers and stroked enough to keep him on the point, despite the interruption. Ges opened his practiced mouth on him, sucking and pulling, returning all his concentration to his groin. Then he felt the scrape of a long fingernail down his shaft. He couldn't stop, and when Ges let him go, he shamefully spurted along his abdomen.

Padma made a choking sound, and then there was the sound of the door being flung back against the wall. Ges laughed, and lifted himself off the bed.

“Thanks for an amusing diversion! He's what, thirteen now? Time for him to see what men do.”

He was angry and all pleasure was over. “Get me out of this rig! Now!”

“No, I think I'll leave you like this—you're so gorgeous.”

He could hear sounds of Ges dressing quickly, and then the room was empty, and Ges was calling, “Armsmen, your lord needs your attention, now!”

%%%%%%%

He found Padma in the garden behind Vorkosigan House, leaning against a tree, face buried in his elbow. There was a sour smell coming from the bushes next to the tree. The dark haired boy was still shaking, and had obviously been crying.

“Padma, I am so sorry that you saw that. But you should never have come into my room. That was rude.”

“Rude? I thought you were in danger—what did you want me to do, stay out of the way while someone killed you?”

“Well, that wasn't going to happen—it was just a game.”

“A game—to do that? With, with, that horrible man? Why did you let him hit you?”

The answer to that was too complicated to deliver. He couldn't tell Padma any of it.

 _“Because I killed two men in duels and didn't have to suffer any consequences, and wanted to punish myself.”_ This was partly true.

 _“Because he's hot and lovely, and I loved and hated his sister, and I lust for and hate him. And sometimes it feels good to be under someone else's control.”_ Even less possible to explain.

 _“Because—I can't die. I can't murder myself, but I can cut myself to ribbons, and take my father with me. I'm the also-ran, the failure, the second son. Why shouldn't I hurt him, when he's hurt me every day with his disapproval, his scorn? I couldn't even keep the wife he chose for me, and I don't measure up to the great General Count Vorkosigan, not now, not ever! But I love seeing him die a little each time Ges and I march in together arm in arm. I love seeing the expressions on the faces when I kiss him in HQ. It's completely worth the write-ups.”_ That one he couldn't even explain to himself.

He tried again, and touched Padma's shoulder. Padma flung his elbow back so quickly it would have hit his nose, if the boy had been taller. As it was, the small blow just hit his arm, hardly even stung, at least physically. 

“Don't touch me! You're filthy and I don't ever, ever, ever want to see you again.”

In a wheedling voice, completely different from the tones he normally used, he said, “Well, you will see me again—there's so few of us left now that you know Father will have you come over. Give me a chance to work this out.”

There was no answer, and Padma rushed away from him, pushing his way toward the side garden gate. He was left alone in an late autumn day which had seemed so promising such a short time ago. Walking back to the house, he saw something white stuck at the edge of the path, halfway in the ground cover. He picked it up, and then groaned. It was an essay by Padma for his military prep school, on different types of spacecraft and their uses. Padma had gotten an A plus on it, which didn't surprise him. He and his baby cousin had spent an entire afternoon happily discussing this only a week ago.

WINTER

Things did not get better with Padma. That winter he saw the boy frequently, as he and Piotr mixed often with the Vorpatril clan's gatherings. But Padma turned away from him, pretended not to see him, rushed past him, and on one memorable day actually spat at him when he'd approached. Aral didn't know what he could do to make things better. It didn't help that his firm determination to cut things off with Ges had lasted only a week.

Why he let that man back into his bed was something he couldn't answer. The first time, Ges had been all sweetness and conciliatory, giving pleasure and no pain, being caring and considerate. They had even cuddled afterward.

Then, though—then things changed again, the way they always did with Ges. The man was right, he did want whatever Ges had to give him, whether it was a long slow suck or a fast hard fuck. He was very glad Padma hadn't witnessed THAT, anyway. Turned face-down, opened and smoothed for Ges to take his pleasure—and then Ges would pull him off. It went the other way, too—Ges was sometimes the one underneath. Ges was a dirty talker, all the time, which did more for Ges than it did for him. He loved to narrate the action, crooning obscenely.

“And here I am deep in your lovely ass again, ah, so fine, so firm, you're so tight for me today. Tell me to ride you hard, I know you want it.” 

Then the bastard would actually stop moving until Aral did whatever it was Ges wanted. Begged him, or touched himself when Ges said to, or stopped touching himself when Ges said not to. It was a heady rush to be in his presence, never knowing what unpredictable or impossible thing would be asked of him next.

Give him a blow job at the Emperor's Birthday party, in the gardens? Done.

Shop with him for mushrooms and trout to cook a meal together? Done?  
After that same meal let Ges pleasure him til he was almost asleep, and then got a sharp bite on his hip, dislocating his brain? Done.

Parade together into a party, in their reds and blues, holding hands, Ges' head leaning over his? Done so many times it was getting old for him. The high Vor now seemed unshockable, and unsurprised, but still disapproving strongly.

He'd always drunk more than was good for him, but now it was more often, and mingled with whatever Ges could buy or bribe from someone. This was another dimension Ges wanted to explore—how their minds could be altered in so many ways. Dreamy with old fashioned weed, sharp and hot with poppers and snow, hallucinating on some type of cactus buds from the west—even Ges admitted that last was too excessive. 

Then there was the parties. He'd never known how many men in Vorbarr Sultana were what their parents or peers thought of as perverted, until he opened the door to Ges' one night and found ten male bodies locked together on the floor, another ten watching them. Some of the men seemed very young...but he didn't want to look too closely. 

But no matter how extreme or disgusting something seemed the first time it was presented, it was less so the next, less the time after that. He was so far gone in this world of sensation and lost boundaries that his daily assignments and duties at Ops headquarters blurred by him. Good work, bad work, inconsistent—then he'd have a week's rest and snap back to life, humming with purpose. 

%%%%%%%%%%

The winter went by, and Padma was with Count Vorpatril's family much of the time. Whether Padma had told them anything was unknown, but he'd probably mumbled about not wanting to go to Vorkosigan House and being accepted at that. And of course the Vor network told them enough about Aral's association with Ges that they might fear Aral would seduce the boy. 

Ges still gave himself to Aral, just often enough to make him want more. He'd let Aral take the lead, place himself in Aral's hands, beg to be buggered—and then still, weirdly, lead the action by his constant, crooning dirty talk. 

“Now you're inside me, so good, so hard, fuck me, fuck me hard now, don't stop, for god's sake don't stop don't stop you're so good, so hot fuck me now!”

  
In a month or three he realized that he wanted out.

“Don't let him in,” he instructed the armsmen, and they obeyed.

“Don't take his calls,” and they'd refuse Ges' importuning comconsole messages.

But he still had to go to work, and he found Ges waiting against his groundcar, greatcoat open to the softening spring breeze. Ges was wearing his usual undress green, but every bit of braid was sparkling, and the trouser lines were crisp.

“Hey. Where have you been? I've missed you so.” 

“Go away. I don't want to see you again. It's over.”

“No, it's not,” and quick as a cat, quicker, Ges closed the difference and threw his arms around him. Ges roped him in tightly, ran one hand up to cradle his head, and pulled his head up for a hard, hard kiss right there on the sidewalk, never caring a toss who else might be walking by.

“Come over tonight,” he breathed in Aral's ear. “It will be just us.” 

And even though he wanted to push away, he stood like a statue as Ges brushed aside his coat, rapidly pulled up his tunic, and slid his palm into Aral's pants.  
“No! You idiot, not out here!” He pulled away, but Ges was a fine strong man, and he tightened his grip onto Aral's cock.

Ges smiled down. “My place. I have a new South continent wine you must try.”  
Squeezing Aral's cock one last time, he pulled his hand away, and trotted down the sidewalk as Aral struggled to readjust his clothes. An old prole couple across the street scowled at him. Aral heard pure Dendarii hill accents as they passed around the side of Vorkosigan House, going to the servants' entrance.

“Eh, that was a girly-man with our Lord, just like Tatya said. Kissing him on the street like a man-whore, and the Lord belike an ox hit between the eyes. Think you the Lord will kill him?”

The woman threw a last look at Aral, sad, angry, disgusted—he couldn't tell which she felt the most.

“Ya, no, belike not. It's like a spell with him.” She threw the sign against the evil eye and they passed from view.

 

NINE MONTHS LATER: THE FOLLOWING WINTER.

Time had passed into a second year, and his hopeless addiction to Ges did not wear away. But Ges was bored easily now, pouting, waspish and sarcastic. Aral didn't want to go to parties in Vorbarr Sultana. He'd finally grown tired of the high-Vor judging him. Then Ges decided that he, Aral, and a select group of military academy graduates should go to Vorkosigan Surleau.

When they got to the lake, Ges announced that they should go cross country skiing. At the time, he was lying with his head in Aral's lap, a bright patchwork quilt covering them. The fire was popping lazily. Aral would really rather have stayed in all day, but it wasn't even noon. He considered the idea, and agreed.

The ski party got ready quickly, but then Ges fidgeted as Aral insisted on kitting out backpacks. The snow wasn't deep, but enough for some fun. Aral went first, breaking trail and looking carefully for dangerous areas. Ges was following the group, or at least he was supposed to, but shortly he skied up to Aral, giving him a sweet smile.

Aral wasn't happy. “Shouldn't you be in the back? That's where I put you.”

“I'll be in your back anytime you want, darling.”

Aral frowned. They were all fully trained military academy graduates who should know how to take care of themselves. Still— he checked positions.

Two men behind him had skied some fifty yards higher. He thought, there's some crevasses right about—

“Hey! Don't—”

He was too late. Their brightly bobbing caps jerked down, and then disappeared.

Aral took over automatically.  
“Ges! Get the others. Bring them up carefully.” He skied quickly uphill. One man had a femur fracture, and the other was getting woozy from a head injury.

With rapid-fire orders, he organized the assembly of impromptu rescue gear, grateful that he'd insisted on filling the backpacks. They hacked tree branches and prepared extra jackets for the stretcher, used silver tape to hold everything down. Ges checked everything as Aral pushed them on to the next steps. Then the men were brought up by careful lifts, covered in foil heating blankets, and kept still on the stretchers with extra neck scarves. The day had turned cloudier, and then a storm front came up over the lake. It was a scrambling drag and carry back to the house, and they tumbled inside as it began to sleet. 

Fliers couldn't get in until the next day, so they kept the injured men warm in front of the fire with blankets. Aral gave them water mixed with honey, a little at a time. He searched for a larger first-aid kit in the storage rooms, and found some precious pain killers. Based on communication with the hospital in Hassadar, Aral took three men with him to the patient with the broken leg. They'd given him morphine as well as whiskey, but he still screamed as his leg was pulled straight. Aral stayed awake all night, watching, talking to the injured men, reassuring the others. It was a great relief to finally have the experienced paramedics arrive. They chewed him out good for setting out without checking the weather, but then praised him for how he'd handled the crisis. Now, he only wanted to go home and get warm and blind drunk with Ges, who was laughing excitably and petting him. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%  
FULL SUMMER

Padma was dropped off at the front of Vorpatril House while the groundcar driver went to the back to park the car. At the entrance a soldier stood waiting, half turned, and Padma automatically said, “Good afternoon,” before he realized who it was. 

His mouth dried before he could say anything, and Ges said cheerfully,

“Hi, I thought we didn't get introduced very well last time. I'm Lieutenant Ges Vorrutyer.” He held out his hand with a brilliant smile and although Padma had no intention of doing so, he reached out and shook the man's hand.

“Why are you here?”

The man smiled again, even more warmly, and his eyes crinkled a bit. You couldn't really call it mischievous, just a teasing kind of grin. He said, “Just wanted to talk to you a bit. I'm harmless.” He held out a white paper bag, the kind you get from bakeries.

“Here, I brought you some pastries. Can we sit somewhere and eat them?”

He could smell the warm yeast, the spice, the fruity flavors, and now his mouth was wet again, salivating. There wasn't a nearby table, but the house next door was being remodeled and big baulks of timber and stone stood ready. Ges lead him around to a little perch on a pile of boards, and pulled out his pastry bag, smiling. This cozy niche sheltered them from the view of the street, but he could see his house; nothing difficult or dangerous here. A small breeze pushed the white puffy clouds.

Ges nibbled at one pastry while Padma ate three of them; he was always hungry now, and these were especially good. One was meat, very savory, one was brilberry, and one was cinnamon with butter, honey, and chopped nuts. Ges held out the rest of the bag to him with a smile, and he took it automatically.

“You know, I was sorry I couldn't explain things when I met you before. I'm Aral's friend, have been for a long time. We—understand each other, he and I, and sometimes we play games with each other. I know you were confused when you saw us. You've never seen anyone having sex before, when would you have? Of course it would upset you to see that. And you didn't know that Aral likes to have sex with me. Some men do like to be with other men; people don't talk of it, but there's really nothing wrong in it. People just want to love who they want to love.”

Padma had just bitten into a fourth pastry, an apricot kolache, and couldn't walk away. He would rather never be reminded of that afternoon, couldn't believe this man was talking about—it. This man, Ges, with Aral—he absolutely didn't want to know about this, but Ges kept talking.

“I know that you think I was being mean to him, but really we play the game the other way, too. He sometimes does things to me that you might think were being mean. We really like each other a lot.”

“Aral didn't want you to be with you! I heard him!”

Ges laughed, leaning back against the boards, comfortable. “Well, if you'd been ten minutes earlier, you would have heard him saying that he wanted to be with me very much.”

He drew out a little bottle from another bag. “Do you like fruit juice? This goes very well with the pastries.”

He already had a couple of little glasses poured before Padma could say anything, and handed one over.

“What is this?” Padma sniffed it suspiciously.

“It's a kind of cherry juice. It's called kir.”

He drank it. It was an odd taste, the sweetness and then something else catching in his throat. It made him feel warm inside, and when Ges offered a half-glass more, he took it.

After that, it wasn't unusual for Ges to show up at his house, always just after the armsman went inside. He never mentioned Aral again, and Padma didn't either. Ges asked questions about his schoolwork, his day, and somehow it was much easier to talk to a nice man who laughed and brought you treats than it was to old Count Vorpatril who was gruff and never praised him. It was certainly easier than talking to his mother. She'd never remarried after his father had been killed in Yuri's massacre, and he had no idea what she did all day. Often he'd go straight up to his room when he came home, and might not see her until dinner, if she was eating in that evening. Nobody missed him at home for the few minutes or half an hour he and Ges ate snacks together.

Ges always had little bottles of juice, liqueurs, he told Padma, and always different kinds. One kind was creamy and tasted very nice with some coffee Ges brought in another thermos. Another tasted like liquorice and turned cloudy when Ges poured water into it. He had green ones, blue ones, orange, yellow. 

It was hard to remember that he'd been angry with Ges. Over some weeks Ges brought cakes, pastries, hot pastrami sandwiches, drinks of various kinds—and he'd realized now that the little bottles were not juice at all, but something like the whiskey he stole from the Count's private cabinet. They tasted good, and made him feel warm, relaxed. Ges didn't come every day, and after a few weeks, he realized that he missed the days in between. In the beginning, he'd thought perhaps Ges might try to kiss him, and that would be horrible, but Ges never even touched him, and never talked about sex at all, after that first day. 

It was very nice to have someone to listen to him, and only once did he think—wait, I'm not talking to Aral because I'm mad at him for being friends with Ges, but Ges is my friend now. He might have talked to Aral then, but Aral had left off trying to speak to him months ago. Padma heard that Aral was out on a ship now.

 

IT WAS AUTUMN AGAIN, ALMOST TWO YEARS SINCE—THAT DAY.  
It was really too chilly to be outside in the breeze, but he couldn't invite Ges into his House; Ges had never been introduced. The odd thing was that, before today, he'd never realized his family didn't know Ges.

The house next door was almost finished, and at Ges' smiling suggestion, they'd walked through it, looking at the way the rooms were laid out: large bedrooms, a long dining hall, a huge fireplace ready for logs. He'd shivered with the cold, and Ges had swept his greatcoat over Padma's shoulders. They walked down the winding sidewalk to the curb, and he smiled and waved goodbye to Ges, who lifted the coat off him at the entrance to Vorpatril House.

Padma didn't see Aral until Aral had charged into Ges and knocked him back against the stonework at the gate.

“You! What the hell do you think you're doing here? With my cousin? I'll fucking kill you!”

Aral's big hands came up and caught Ges around the throat, squeezing hard. Ges kicked at Aral, connecting with a knee, but Aral just grunted and didn't fall. Ges turned redder and then almost purple, and the whole time Padma was yelling at Aral to quit, leave him alone. Padma saw that Ges was hanging loosely, not moving at all. Looking frantically around, he saw the bottle of kir had fallen from Ges' pocket. He grabbed it and hit Aral on the back of the head, trying not to break any bones. 

Aral jolted and his hand came away from Ges, batting at the bottle. Padma yelled again, and this time Aral broke away, dropping Ges to the sidewalk. Aral grabbed the bottle Padma was holding, looked at it, and then raised it over Ges. Padma had just time enough to fall on Aral's arm with all his weight, pushing him, and then everyone was on the ground in the street. Aral sat up and threw the bottle as far as he could. It landed with a loud crash. Ges rolled over and vomited. Aral pulled himself up and jerked Padma up with him. He kicked Ges, who was now curled into a ball, yanked open the gate to Vorpatril House, and had Padma inside in seconds.

The big armsman who opened the door looked startled to see Aral, and tried to stop him, but Aral shoved him away and quickly pushed Padma into the small front room. Aral plopped Padma on a couch, and then sat down beside him, breathing quickly. Padma also heard some gasping in Aral's breath, and realized that Aral was crying.

Padma's mind was swirling. He'd hated to see Aral choking Ges, had been very scared that Aral might kill Ges. He was confused because he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to hate Ges for hurting Aral, but Ges had been kind to him, while Aral had been away for many months. _Because I pushed him away._

Aral said something in a low tone, too rapidly for Padma to hear, and when Padma didn't answer Aral raised his head and said, “Did he touch you? Because if he did I'm going back out there again, and I will kill him.”

“No, he never touched me. He was nice, not like—not like when I saw—him—you—that day. He brought me pastries, meat savories, cookies. And the liqueurs. Those were nice.”

“Liqueurs? What did he give you?” Aral's voice was rough and demanding, and Padma hesitated.

“Padma! Please! Ges can be very persuasive and charming when he wants to be. I want to know everything that happened. Tell me now!”

Padma told him, only stumbling a little, because after some of the liqueurs he'd gotten a taste for stronger alcohol and had learned how to open the Count's liquor cabinet. He didn't dare do that very often, because he was afraid of being caught, but he'd told Ges, who laughed, and told him the thing to do was carry a little glass of water with him, so that he could fill up the drinks bottles to their original marks.

Aral was shaking his head, with tears still running down his face. “Forcing you into lying and conspiring with him—oh, I know him, he made it sound good and a little bit risky, so it was fun. Forcing you into underage drinking and concealing things from the head of your House. Too many alcoholics in our Houses already!

“Come on.” Aral pushed Padma ahead of him, into his room, pushed him to sit down on his bed, while Aral sat in the large chair in front of Padma's desk. Aral wasn't crying now, just staring at Padma, while Padma stared at his own shoes.

“He didn't touch me.”

“I know. You said.” Aral reached into the large pocket of his coat, and drew out—Padma tensed—it wasn't a pastry bag, but it was one of Aral's nice drawings, of Padma's mother and father. It was a small five inch by 7, framed, and it had gotten smashed during the fight.

“I'm sorry. I'll make another one. I found this vid in an album, from that last summer, and I sketched it. Here.”

Aral picked up a drawing pen from the bowl on Padma's drafting table, found a blank drawing page from where Padma always stored his supplies, and started to sketch again. Watching him, Padma realized that Aral had changed since he'd last seen him. He was paler, and heavier.

“You've been out—away from the city—on a ship?”

Aral nodded, keeping his head bent over his work. “Yeah, nobody gets any sun, and you can't just run off what you eat. We eat okay, better than okay, really, but then we have to train and train. I can wrestle very well—I like that more than lifting weights, but you have to run also. Can't really get up a good run on a ship, just have to jog laps. What's the most fun is tactics, practicing that is never hard. But you get a fat ass from sitting in a station chair for hours, hmm? So they don't let us do it. You get to do tactics as a reward for busting your butt!”

Neither of them said anything for a bit. Aral finished roughing in his sketch and showed it to Padma. “I still need to finish it.” He stood up.

“No, let me have it.” Padma stood up and found to his shock that he wasn't looking up at Aral. It had been—almost two years? Since THAT DAY. He had been, what, thirteen, and a half? And now he was almost fifteen and a half. He'd been 165 cm then, and was now 180, the last he'd checked. They were both shocked—Aral was about 2 cm shorter. 

Aral said something first. “Oh, my baby cousin, look at you! When did you get so big!” He punched Padma's arm.

“Ohhh, you're the baby now! My little baby cousin Arallll! Padma wiggled his fingers over Aral's head.

“Can still whip you into shape—I've been wrestling these 2 meters guys!”

“Oh, so scared, race you to the gym!”

They pounded along hallways and down to the basement gym, and quickly threw down mats. Padma would have charged straight into him, but Aral said, “No, we do these things differently now, baby, we warm up and then there's a timer and everything!”

Aral made him warm up for five minutes, while they yelled familiar insults. Then he pinned Padma inside thirty seconds. And again. Only the third time did Padma pin Aral, briefly, calling him, “Old man!” Aral came bouncing back on his heels fast, new muscles glistening. “Want me to show you how to use your height? Here's the way, big guy, oh gods, my big baby cousin...” Aral clasped him in more like a hug than a wrestling hold this time, and sounded weepy again, so Padma reached around back with a foot and swept Aral's ankle out and tripped him.

“Watch yourself, shrimp!”

Aral jumped straight up and threw him down, following with a tight armlock. “Small, but vicious, pup!”

Padma tried to break the block and then—Aral almost dislocated his elbow! He yelled.

Their voices crossed.  
“Would you show me how you did that?”  
“Want me to show you how to do that?”  
Aral made a serious face. “Now, do you want me to dislocate it all the way?”

“You wouldn't! Uncle Vorpatril would beat YOU up!”  
“That's okay, then, because he's even shorter than I am!”

Count Vorpatril said from the gym door, "You're damn right I would beat you, Aral, with a switch! I heard that you were back in town, and things were...different. Better with you."

Aral stood up and greeted the Count. "Uncle. It has been far too long. And I am much, much better. Did you get the trash taken away from the gate, or do I need to do that?" 

"It's done. Just don't stay away until Padma gets so big he'd have to carry you around in a back pack."

Padma and Aral grinned at each other like fools.


End file.
